Grief
by Wannabebetty
Summary: O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last! William Shakespeare. The HP characters travel around the battle ground after Voldemorts Demise, musing over death,closure, and fate.
1. The grief of a Brother

**Grief**

Disclaimer: I, like everyone else, do not own a thing.

"_Grief is a most peculiar thing; we are so helpless in the face of it. Its like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less, and one day we wonder what had become of it." Memoirs of a Geisha- a novel_

_**Chapter 1: The grief of a brother**_

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. His eyes turned and gazed over the unbelievable. Time and time again he had played it out in his mind to see who the victor really would be. Never in his wildest dreams would he see this. The thought hadn't even occurred to him as he walked around the disaster area in a dream-like state. The world could never know the worthlessness of this place, or the anger and misunderstanding of human nature that had caused it. He could barely breathe from such intensity. He saw many others, who looked very much like him at that very moment, walking amiss, searching.

They seemed to be searching for answers much like himself. Answers that possibly would never be found no matter how hard they searched or for how long. Nothing seemed possible here, and yet this was the world that was created by his people, divided by hatred and ignorance. It wasn't possible, he, a man once so happy that he could find the life and laughter within anything and everything. He was no longer that man and, he realized, may never be him ever again.

He didn't even know what he would find as he approached yet another one. The unknown fighter lay there, frozen with a look of agony upon her pale face. She could have been beautiful once upon a time. She could have held the fire that had brought a smile to an entire room. Now she lay there, devoid of her soul, eyes gazing emptily into the distance. She was dead.

He stooped beside her and willed the tears to come to his eyes. But they would never reach his face. At that particular moment he was completely empty. He slowly raised his left hand and took her small, wilted hand in his. There was no pulse and her soft fingers felt cold to the touch. He took one last look at her cold, frozen gray-blue eyes, that had obviously seen something so terrible and horrifying that she kept that picture in the back of her mind as she died. He now moved his hand smoothly over her lids to close her eyes forever.

When he once again stood on shaky legs, he gripped his wand even tighter. He hoped that someone would come soon and claim the girl. He had no idea whom she was or why she had felt the need to fight for a cause that had seemed pointless now. She lost her life in the process and he thought that where ever she was now, that contentment had found her.

He stumbled as he walked along further. All around him he heard people shouting out names and tearful goodbyes. He paid no attention to who they called for, he doubted they would ask for his name. He felt so utterly alone. If one were to look around into the disarray of this tattered world where he stood, a chill in the air would be expected. There was no chill. It was warm and no breeze swept across the night.

He came across another body. Limbs were bent at awkward angles that instantly spoke of broken bones. He once again staggered forward. It was a man this time. His robes were torn and gravel lay on top of his immobile body as though someone had come across him and began to bury him with a handful of dirt. He crouched next to the man and looked for signs of life. He knew this man; he had known him well. Still the tears would not come.

Once again he dropped his hand to the limp one that lay beside him and searched for a pulse. He didn't think he felt a single thing and felt his heart grow heavy at the thought. He slowly replaced the hand upon the dead mans chest and began to rise. He suddenly heard a whisper coming from the stationary lips of the man.

Energized once again, he dropped to his knees and looked at the man. His lips were still not moving and he dropped a fraction further and pressed his ears closer to his face. Nothing.

Maybe hope had crept into his icy heart once again, he thought. He could have imagined the whisper. He had known Neville so well; that the thought now that he was dead was too much to be true. But sadly he resigned to the fact that it was.

"Goodbye, Neville. Goodbye. You fought well, I'm sure." Even as the words left his chapped and dry lips he could not summon the emotions to the surface that he felt so deep down.

He turned his back on the man and walked a few paces away. He couldn't breathe a single breath into his cold lungs. He dropped to the ground and sat not moving, if only for a minute. To him, a minute now could feel as though an eternity would pass. He could stand it if he tried. He took another look around him at the despair that was engulfing him. How could this be happening, he though repeatedly. He raised his arm to run his fingers through his long red hair, feeling the heaviness that now resided within his body. Every movement seemed to be pulling him down further. His body was altogether too heavy and he felt as though he was sinking into the earth below him.

He pressed his fingers to his brown eyes, closing them tightly. He began to will himself to another place that was not so destitute and tortured. He thought of his home, and his once happy and full family. Even this did not bring out the deep feelings that resided like a hundred-pound weight upon his chest. That life he had once known must have been a dream, fore it was too happy and too beautiful a world to have been real. If that had been real then this dreary place he was in now could never be really there. And yet he knew, in the pit of his empty stomach that this ground he now sat on, and the bodies that lay around him like discarded trash, were all too real.

He felt the exhaustion in his heart reach out as it struck every part of his body, from the roots of his hair, to the tips of his toes. At that moment he felt he could go to sleep and never wake up. Not waking up didn't bother him at all. What did was the knowledge that if he did, and he was sure he could, he would abandon everyone and everything in his world that still needed him. It may not have been much, but at that singular moment he knew he could not run away again. Most of his life he had run, laughing into the sunset, away from responsibility and fear. He could no longer run, because there was no where to run to.

Opening his eyes, he sighed deeply. Resigned to his fate he began to rise. His eyes drifted up, and he saw a girl much in his same position a few moments ago, rustling around the dead, looking for the living or the sign of someone she might know. He stepped closer, and in the moonlight he saw her small petite form... and messy red hair so much like his own. His heart leapt into his throat as he had been willing it to all night. Under the moonlight, tears poured from his eyes like salty water. In this new world that was destroyed he would not cry for the dead, but for the living.

"Ginny!" He began to call out, but his voice so choked, cracked within his throat and came out as a mere whisper. "Ginny," he said, again only a whisper. But this whisper, in the deadly quiet was enough. Quickly the woman turned and regarded where her name was coming from. Her face was smudged with dirt and dried blood, but he knew she was amazingly beautiful. He walked toward her, ignoring the stumbling limp that had bothered him before. For once, the hope that things would be okay leapt into his empty stomach again. He wrapped his arms around her weak and frail body that had once been strong and lean. She too, was struck with emotion and held him closely.

"George..." she whispered the name of her older brother and tried her hardest not to let him go.

_Authors note: This is obviously a work in progress. I want to know how well it is received, kindly, and negatively. All reviews will be deeply helpful in knowing if I should continue. I should warn all readers that I intend to follow this story, because I feel deeply about the darkness of it. Please review and let me know what you truly think. **Review!**_


	2. The grief of a sister

**Grief**

Chapter 2: The grief of a Sister

_"Grief and sadness knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger than common joys." Alphonse de Lamartine _

It was like an earthquake. Tremors impulsively ran through her insides as her eyes instinctively rolled over the destruction that had the depressing result of a war of magic. Her stomach came into her throat as she saw the lonely corpses of hundreds. Immediately she sank to her hands and knees and wretched sour stomach acid into a nearby dead bush.

Once her stomach felt settled, she slumped clumsily onto her back. Her throat was dry and every swallow was painful. A cold sweat had erupted over her body that made her tattered clothing stick to her small frame uncomfortably.

As she lay there amidst rocks and thorny bushes her mind began to wonder. Closing her eyes she traveled back to a time of joyfulness and smiles. Uncharacteristically she began to weep. As tears traveled down her dirt-smudged cheeks, she remembered how happy she had once been just last year. After her fourth year at Hogwarts her life had began a strange spiral that had led up, treacherously, to this very moment.

Suddenly she sprang up and began to look around her wildly. Somewhere, in the distance, she could hear the yells of others, just like herself, trying to gain control of their loves, and hopefully, fund there so cherished loved ones. Standing tiredly, she knew what she had to do. She gave herself the freedom of three very long, deep breaths to gather her wits. After the past tedious hors her mind was edging towards the end of the rope and was fraying at the edges.

On shaky legs, she began to walk. Her mind was now focused and clear towards her purpose. She began walking from limp body to limp body hoping that among the unmoving there were a few survivors.

"Hello?" She whispered into the ear of a body upon the hard earth. It was a woman who was extremely lovely underneath the dirt and grime of a long and tedious battle. "Hello?" She whispered again. Pointing her wand at the immobile woman she whispered a few simple incantations to counter act curses which may freeze the body or make it seem lifeless.

She sighed deeply after a few moments. Slowly the woman raised her brown eyes and looked at the witch who had awoken her.

"You're going to be all right;" the woman leaning over her laughed in joy at no longer being alone in this dark new world.

"What... How?" The poor woman on the ground asked softly as she reached her bearings.

"It's over... Everything is over. The ministry is looking for survivors. Here," the helpful woman said as she conjured a glass of water.

"My name is Ginny, Ginny Weasley," She smile quaked as she looked down at the hurt woman. Suddenly she took her wand and pointed it at the air, "Lumos!" She shouted, fiercely.

With a pop a balding, red-haired man who looked very tired appeared beside her.

"Dad!" Ginny screamed, suddenly overwhelmed.

"Ginny dear. I'm so glad you are okay." He grasped his daughter in his arms and kissed her tangled red hair. "Gin, I have..." Tears burst from Arthur's eyes as his senses got the best of him.

"Dad, I know things are not... good," she took a deep breath to steady herself. In the forefront of her mind she saw the faces of all those who she loved and pictured each as empty and soul-less as so many who surrounded her. Knowing the tars were preparing to fall, she finished the thought she was saying. "But we can't do this now." The water gates opened as she realized she was postponing any knowledge of injuries or worse.

Mr. Weasley nodded absently and laid his eyes on the unknown woman drinking water on the ground.

"Come with me, ma'am. We'll find out whom you are and what to do next." Arthur helped the woman off the ground and reached fro Ginny's arm. "You should come with me too. Now that I know you are okay, I don't want you out of my sight."

"Ginny knew her dad was relieved that she was healthy and whole, but she was needed here. Inwardly she cursed being so self righteous for really, there was nothing she would rather do than return to the Burrow, wrap herself within the many homemade quilts and pretend as though nothing had happened.

"Dad, no. I'll find my way back soon. I think I can help here, more than feeling sorry for myself." Her voice was shaky but her eyes were steady on her fathers. He knew she was right, and understood her perseverance.

Nodding his head solemnly, he said, "You can help. Just raise your wand, with a beam of light, and a ministry worker will be here immediately to assist you. We've already rounded up what's left of the death eaters, so no fear."

The unknown woman watched the father and daughter thoughtfully. As Arthur took her arm, they dissapperated.

Ginny stood alone again, feeling the chill of loneliness crawl up her back, and pull her torn t-shirt closer around her. With a quick glance around she set off again.

Bodies were sparse by this time. Witches and wizards had either awoken from the spells they were under. Or others had come and claimed the unfortunate dead bodies. Ginny pitied herself and felt more alone than ever. She knew that her father and warm familiar comfort was only a wand raise away, but she was compelled to wander only a little bit further.

She marched off into the dirty, dusty distance ahead. Ginny's mind was blank for the next few minutes, but her steps never wavered. Her body felt rough and hard, unlike her old self.

Her eyes were glazed over and she wasn't really seeing what lay ahead of her. She knew that she was, for the most part, alone. That seemed the most important part, as it seemed to consume her.

Suddenly she faltered and stepped on something beneath her small feet made her steps stop and slip from beneath her. Rubbing the sensitive part of her head where it had made contact with the hard ground. She groaned in pain. Sitting up on her bottom she looked beside her to see what had tripped her.

There lay another body. This, a frail older man, seemed unnatural and most definitely dead. Ginny sighed in disappointment. She was deadly sick of death and destruction. Frustration filled her being as desperation tumbled within her.

Just in case, Ginny thought, and she reached out to check to mans pulse. Rather to see if a pulse existed within his pale, broken body. Nothing. He was the past, she thought.

In the dead quiet she felt some ones presence behind her. She whipped her head around and saw one of the loveliest pictures she had withheld in an exhaustibly long time.

"George," Ginny mouthed wordlessly.

For Ginny Weasley, as she watched her ginger-haired brother stumble toward her, the horrifying images of the day seemed fictional. He came to her and wrapped his long arms around her. She felt momentary relief as he held her to his lanky form. But that feeling soon passed as she remembered the awful place she was now standing.

"George," Ginny whispered close to his ear. She felt his body shudder as he withheld a sigh of sudden gratitude.

"I'm so glad you are okay," George stuttered out while bringing his lovely sisters face into his large hands. "Ginny... Ginny," he said trying to find the words to ask questions that were undeniable on each of their minds.

"I don't know, George. Lets forget about this all..."

"We can't, you know that." Ginny did know. She knew all too well that the events of the past two days would forever be imprinted on her mind. The truth, she feared to say, was the reality that every time she closed her eyes she would see his face. This was the same man's face that had plagued the wizarding world for decades. It didn't matter that it was all over now, in Ginny's mind it had only begun.

"Let's go home. We can see who else is there, and maybe rest a bit." Ginny shot George a look from the side of her eyes. There would be no rest to be gotten by any within their community for a while yet.

"As George grasped Ginny's arm for side-along apparation they took one last look at the result. It was the end of Lord Voldemort.


	3. The grief of those who have lost

Grief

Chapter 3: The grief of those who have lost

"_Excess of grief for the dead is madness; for it is an injury to the living and the dead know it not." John Adams_

The air was warm and still, thick with the stench of detachment. Ginny felt as though she were miles away from her body and that she was merely observing herself walking along the lonely lane to the Burrow in the arms of her brother.

George was stunned into silence as he carried the weight of his tearful sister and the weight of despair. Never before had his light heart and wide eyes felt so downtrodden in the depths of depression.

In the distance the Burrow rose like a beacon of hope out of the darkness. The familiar sight, too, seemed immeasurably different. Only one light burned out of the many makeshift windows. It was a low, buttery yellow burning coming from the kitchen. As the two ebbed closer to the house, they both felt as though time stood still and that in the emptiness that was their new world, they would find comfort in the arms of their family.

Ginny now stood on her own two feet as she found her bearings. She dried her tear soaked cheeks and rushed at the wooden door as fast as her small body would carry her. She could feel George on her heels waiting for the door to be thrown open and them to be enveloped in the arms of their loving mother.

Ginny turned the knob and before opening the door she drew in a ragged breath and looked over her shoulder at the waiting George. He was not breathing, she could tell from the non-existent rise and fall of a steadily moving chest. She turned the knob and pushed on the door with all of the strength she had left in her.

She heard a noise from within and she drew in a deep intake of breath.

"Who is it?" a rough voice called from inside the house.

"Dad?" Ginny stuttered out. "It's Ginny… and George. We're home." Her voice was shaky and full of newly formed tears. Ginny felt a strong hand grab her shoulder and she knew it was George steadying himself. "Dad, is that you?"

"Yes Ginny, it's me." Suddenly she was enthralled in the arms of her father, Arthur. She felt his tears streak down her neck, and she too lost control and began to sob. Arthur let go of her and suddenly saw George. The two men threw their arms around each other and had a very tearful hello.

Ginny watched her father and brother and slowly let her eyes drift around the old, familiar kitchen. It was nearly pitch black in the room except for a single flame alight from a candle on the counter. Ginny picked up the candle and walked around the room looking at all the familiar sights.

She held the old candle up next to the clock that had shown the fate of her entire family at all times.

"Oh Ginny, it's been broken since I got home. Everyone is stuck on mortal peril." Arthur Weasley said as he put an arm around his only daughter.

"Well maybe we all are still in danger." Ginny said trying to comfort herself.

"No dear, that can't be." He took her hand and pulled her softly from the clock. He gestured to George to follow as he walked solemnly to the living room.

There, lying on the sofa, as if in asleep lay Fred.

"Fred?" Ginny called. She grasped her fathers hand harder as she began to feel dizzy.

Suddenly George pushed past her and rushed to the side of his twin. Never before in their lives had they spent more than ten minutes apart. Now they had spent the most agonizing day apart. He grasped his brother's shoulders and shook him violently, trying, with all his strength, to wake up the young ginger-haired man.

To no avail he called out his brother's name. "Fred! Fred, its George. Wake up!" He began to shake him again, crying as he cradled his brother's head in his arms. "Do you hear me Fred? It's me, George…. You're brother… you're twin…" Finally he collapsed against Fred's body and sobbed uncontrollably.

"Come on George, you should rest." George felt the arms of his father and sister pulling him away from the body of his beloved twin.

It was hard for George to accept the fact that he would never again joke and laugh with Fred. Fred was the only person that he could confess every last thought and emotion to. Fred was the only person who was always there. They had been placed together at birth, and who were they to separate themselves? He no longer felt complete without his other half. He was only half of a great duo. How was he to survive alone?

I want to thank all who have read this story and enjoyed it. This is not the end, I have many new ideas and hope to update soon. If you liked it please check out my other stories, Who are you, Amour Amongst the no good man, and the Fire within. You can find all of these stories if you go to my author page! Thank you!


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